The Magic Box by Hanna Yip
After Kit Wright
I will put in the box
The wind that flips a page of my book
The crunch of leaves under a deer's hooves
The wink of an eye to keep a secret
I will put in the box
A dive into a swimming pool creating no splash
The song of birds perched in the tallest tree
The ripples of a leaf resting on water
I will put in the box
Footprints left behind in deep snow
The reflection of a mirror staring right back
The rush of wind behind a speeding car
I will put in the box
The tic of a grandfather clock
The buzz of a busy bee
Sighs while I wait
My box is created from diamonds, emeralds, and rubies
with gold thread lining the lid
Its hinges are the doors leading to answers
I will ski in my box
on a chalk white, snowy mountain
sliding down through icy trees
with just a gleam of light
melting the frozen water
The Basketball Player by Hanna Yip
Switching hands
twirling the ball on its axis
spinning his arm around
and around keeping the ball going
tossing it up
and down, letting it roll
along his arms, and up to one shoulder,
and down again, letting it flow
all crouched over, balancing the ball
on his neck
squeaking shoes up
and down the court
bouncing the ball under,
over and through his legs
high dribble, low dribble,
spinning around
feet jumping side to side
like a dance
tossing the ball up, down, and
behind his back, catching and tossing
again and again
Two at a time now!
through, up, and over
over, up, and through
on the dark court
until the whistle
blows
Monologue for a Banana by Hanna Yip
I don’t mean to make you slip.
I don’t do it on purpose.
Well, I have to say, it’s kinda your fault.
You peel my skin,
uncovering my inside, the only part you will eat.
(You’re picky, I must say.)
You throw my skin behind you,
left for future accidents.
My skin is spread out on the ground:
an innocent star,
until…
you hear a cry,
a loud whine,
a child slips and falls.
You stare down at me,
pick me up like I’m a dirty sock,
drop me in a garbage can, and walk away,
leaving me brown, smelly, and alone.
My Reflection by Hanna Yip
When I wave,
she waves.
When I jump,
she jumps.
A ghost on the surface of the water
stares back at me,
playing mirror.
Which way? Which way?
Is it just me,
or am I upside down?
I play with my ghost until…
SPLASH!!!
Rings ripple from the center
of a pebble’s dive.
My image waves
like a flag on a windy day.
The whole pond spreads
into a paper fan.